


Kegare

by Mx_Dragon



Series: Reversed Sun [4]
Category: Persona 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Horror, Bodyswap, Dry Humping, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Master/Servant, Mental Instability, Mindfuck, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Praise Kink, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Dragon/pseuds/Mx_Dragon
Summary: Nyarlathotep imparts the truth about This Side to Tatsuya Sudou via psychosexual nightmare.
Relationships: Kurosu Jun/Sudou Tatsuya, Nyarlathotep/Sudou Tatsuya, Sudou Tatsuya/Suou Tatsuya
Series: Reversed Sun [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747084
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Kegare

Tatsuya Sudou remembers things that never happened. He knows strange names—King Leo, Joker-sama, Vulcanus, the In Lak'ech, the End of Nahui-Ollin, the Oracle of Maia—and the memories that come with them, as one just _knows_ things in a dream.

And even with his vision cut in half, he instinctively recognizes the pale lithe incubus atop him. The Exalted One, first among a new order of angels, shepherd of dreams, herald of an ideal future. It is King Leo's privilege to wear his mask, to worship and serve him, to carry out his prophecies and vengeances.

For now, however, they have both shed all masks. Joker rides Leo hard, his face as bare and lovely as his body, flushed with pleasure. Leo clutches at his slim hips, not to force him down—Joker impales himself tirelessly—but just to hold on, an anchor in the storm of sensation and an excuse to caress his soft skin. The air is thick with the smell of sex and the steady rhythm of flesh smacking flesh. Leo pants loud and open-mouthed, choking raptly on his master's name, his long mane disheveled and damp with sweat, clinging to his neck. Overstimulated to the point of pain, he struggles to stave off his climax; this is for his master's pleasure and not his own. But he's overwhelmed by the tight hot friction squeezing his cock, pinned down and flooded by those stunning amber eyes, by Joker's velvet-voiced praise...

_(good boy, Tatsuya, so strong and handsome and all mine, my best Mask, my favorite pet, the only one I want to use, the only one who can please me)_

Leo knows this can't be real. Joker would never be so direct, would never say such lewd, affectionate things. But he moans aloud for his master anyway, because they're what he's been dying to hear.

_(oh yes, more, just like that, your big cock feels so good inside me, I've found what I've always wanted, I'll keep you in my bed forever)_

He can't hold back any longer. He wants to be a good servant and please his master, but it's too much to bear, enough to break down even a king's pride and make him beg. Joker smiles down at his blissful torment and tells him _almost there, come with me, for me, inside me, I want to feel you, I want to let go together, oh my lion I'm so close I love you_ —

Abruptly he's not flat on his back anymore, but kneeling upright, straddling a warm body just as Joker had straddled him. His cock aches fiercely, denied orgasm at the last possible second. He blinks at the sudden doubling of his vision; his brain has gone ten years with only one eye and it can't interpret what he sees, the images too blurred and staggered to tell who's underneath him.

But he can tell it's not Joker. There's someone touching him, something _inside_ him, a long thick hardness that shoots hot sparks up his spine when he tries to move and oh fuck, why does that make his dripping cock twitch? This stranger is nobody safe, nobody with the right to touch him, and that's all he needs to know. Trying to push through the fever of frustrated lust, he bares his teeth in a fighting snarl, mustering to strike and strangle.

His sight finally clears enough to recognize his partner. It's _him_ , the Cursed Star, the leader of that ragtag gang who're always interfering, the bastard who burned out his eye defending the witch at Alaya Shrine. How the hell did he get under his guard like this? No matter. Leo will teach the brat just how fatal his mistake was. He reaches deep into his heart where Vulcanus glows like a deathless ember—

Only to pull back, bewildered, when he encounters a foreign presence, a zephyr of cool gleaming clockwork.

Then a hand closes around his slicked cock and starts jerking fast. Leo's eyes flutter shut, his concentration shattered, and the strange Persona slips away like quicksilver. The rush of relief leaves him dizzy. His outraged confusion wars with the urge to let the Star keep going. He wants to come so fucking badly. And this is just a dream, after all. He's not really so weak, so whorish, is he? It wouldn't mean anything. No one would know; no harm would be done. He wavers...

Then surrenders. He bucks into the Star's tight grip, slicked with precum, gasping at the shift and throb of the hardness inside him—he's never had anything there before, and the strange stretch leaves him breathless, so full, so deep. He soon figures out the best angle to drive himself down, how to hit the spot inside that flares heat straight through his cock. The muscles of his hips and thighs burn and tremble with fatigue but he barely feels the strain, doesn't notice or care, his focus consumed by the bliss that draws closer, ever closer, almost there—

(the Cursed Star gazes up at him with such tender reverence and breathes _I love you, Jun_ and Leo tries to protest _no, I'm..._ but all that comes out is an answering moan of _Tatsuya_ )

The scene evaporates and reforms again. He's clothed now, but still two-eyed and so painfully hard and straddling someone's lap, grinding his arousal down. They're both sitting up in a chair. In a deserted school office. The late afternoon sun pours orange through the window as a kite shrills in the distance and he's rubbing desperately against—

_Kashihara-sensei?_

no oh god no no this never happened could never happen this is sick so wrong he's like a father to him, what a father should be

(not what a father actually is: sharp and unyielding as ice, the cruelty of piercing gales, contemptuous silences that weigh him down and soak their chill into his flesh like freezing rain)

But Leo's release has been yanked away twice now. He trembles with need. And Kashihara's arms around his lanky teenaged body feel so warm and safe, his calm voice murmuring _it's okay, Takkun, everything's all right, no need to be ashamed, just let yourself go_ , and the buzz of lust in his veins is even louder than the cicadas outside...

So he gives in. He buries his face in the crook of Kashihara's neck and lets his not-a-father hold him tight and rub his back and tell him he's loved while Leo's hips buck and stutter at the sweet words and sweeter friction. Every part of him starves for touch, hypersensitive; in the tepid September hush, his arms prickle with goosebumps and his own panting breaths sound obscenely loud. But nothing matters except the bliss slowly winding tighter, gathering white-hot between his trembling thighs, so wet he can feel his cock dripping as he climbs back to the brink.

Cold curved talons shock deep into his back, frostbite sinking through the muscle. His real father's voice snarls _disgraceful freak, stain on the Sudou name, no son of mine_ and Leo's head-voices burst back to life all at once, a chittering swarm splitting his skull, crawling insectile under his skin. He gropes frantically for Vulcanus but nothing is there, not even the strange Persona from before. With a sick swoop of dread in his stomach, he realizes that it's too early. This version of himself hasn't played the game yet. He's just as helpless as any other wretched human. He's frozen with sensory overload and shame and terror, everything drowned out except the instinct to hide, childish and superstitious, as if the nightmare can only see him when he sees it back but if he turns around he'll find the monster wearing his father's face, the evil in Tatsuzou's heart made flesh

—no, a being beyond flesh, peeling off its mortal disguise—

Something wet and heavy slithers over him, branching ropes of thick muscle, and he realizes he was wrong. The threat wasn't behind him at all. It was where he trusted most and therefore never thought to question. Those slimy sinews are Kashihara's arms, once a comforting sanctuary and now a vile prison. Already too late, he looks up.

His mentor's face is twisted into a hungry sneer. The golden-eyed beast opens its fanged mouth and laughs in a voice exactly like and yet utterly unlike his father's, an inhuman timbre resonating underneath: _**Don't worry, son, I've got you** _ **.**

The dream blinks him back to its beginning. Pinned down with Joker straddling his hips, energetically riding his cock—but this time he can see the profane god looming behind Joker, its black-and-green tentacles manipulating his limbs and jammed into the base of his skull. His vision has been cut in half again and the demon puppeteer fills it entirely, its formless dark bulk all one huge shadow.

Suddenly Leo can perceive the hideous totality. The father he feared and hated above all else was just one errant drop in a wellspring of evil—and its corruption has infected him, too. The self-destructive rot has already taken hold.

Leo has never prayed before, but he prays now as he reaches into his heart once more. Hope rushes up when he touches a familiar tongue of flame, his own Persona finally restored, ready to be called forth.

But the voices roar in his head again, blurring together into deafening static, cutting him off from Vulcanus like a flash flood. And it's even worse this time, because now he can recognize that bone-chilling sonorous undertone. The voice that tormented him for over ten years, whispering words of fire into his ear, fraying his willpower until it snapped and he howled with laughter while Alaya Shrine burned. He can't manifest his Persona, but he still feels Vulcanus struggle in a cage of icy claws, pulled down and down, drowning in the flash-frozen sea of his soul, as helpless as his wielder

—writhing like Joker writhes atop him, his beauty rendered grotesque, Leo's lustful fantasy twisted into a hideous wet nightmare—

Joker slumps to kiss him and his tongue forces into Leo's mouth, clammy and far too long. It just keeps coming, more and more, slithering down his throat, an extension of the tentacle driven straight through Joker's head and out through his mouth. Leo tries to struggle away, whimpering in horror, but it has already entered him, is already worming terrible knowledge into his brain. His orgasm crushes him between its jaws and swallows him into the demon's thousand-eyed stare, cold and black and depthless as space.

Tatsuya Sudou gasps awake on his thin asylum mattress, sticky with cold sweat and hot come, his heart pounding, stomach twisted with a sick dread he can't quite recall the reason for.

But the image of the boy remains clear. The Cursed Star had called him Jun; King Leo had called him Joker. That name paired with that face feels so...right. The embodiment of an ideal that Tatsuya could entrust his soul to.

The thought clicks something back into alignment inside his head. He's seized with the uncanny sense that _things are not as they should be._ The epiphany elates him; its implications revolt and enrage him. He realizes just what a crude, perverse replica his father is trying to sculpt him into, wielding rumors like rusty scalpels. This blasphemy cannot stand. The true Joker is an angel who uplifts humanity by their dreaming hearts, letting the impure fall away, burning like a meteor shower. And Tatsuya is meant to be his right hand.

All the people and places and ideas that his dream-self knew, the wealth of memories he had glimpsed...the Exalted One lay at their center. Everything had started with him. The linchpin whose loss had left time to wobble forward like a wheel on a broken axle, each day accumulating more errors, skewing further and further off its natural course. A whole world robbed of its destiny...the idea was staggering. Yes, that stolen fate must have been the overwhelming wrongness that Tatsuya had sensed. The disconnect, the grating fracture, the vertiginous gap between the reality glimpsed in his dreams and the dream he had, until now, accepted as reality.

Here, the world he might call This Side, is wrong. The Other Side is right. And only he—Tatsuya Sudou, King Leo, unworthy and unwilling Joker—is in a position to right that wrong. Only he knows what reality is supposed to look like. So he has a responsibility to push time back into alignment.

The thought simultaneously calms and excites him. This is what's been missing from his life all along. He had no divine purpose. He was masterless, causeless. This dream would be his new reason for living, his first real, strong ideal: to restore the Other Side. He will gather his old allies and old enemies alike. Restore as much of the chessboard as possible, in hope that the very shape of the gaps will draw in the missing pieces.

But to do that, he first needs freedom. He must escape this asylum and kill his father. Which means playing along with the ignorant bastard's plans for a little while longer. The name “Joker” doesn't belong to him, but he needs its power temporarily. The Exalted One will surely forgive his trespass.

So the person known as Tatsuya Sudou will let his father carve him into a false idol...until King Leo can get his hands on the real godling again. And then he'll take great pleasure in reenacting his past ritual murders. First his father, then the Cursed Star. His counterpart. His inverted doppelganger. Their chests carved out alive, the tendons cut so they can't escape, just as the voices instructed him long ago. Like an ancient solar sacrifice, he'll offer up their bloody hearts to his master and the almighty power that Joker draws upon.

Burning with zeal, Tatsuya starts scribbling on the walls of his cell, a low sibilant chorus buzzing in his head, old familiar voices dictating new words of power—some sacred prophecy, some mundane rumor, all _kotodama_.


End file.
